Doubts
by ColdInMyProfessions
Summary: George Frederick thought he knew what he was doing; turns out he couldn't have been more wrong. Set in the 'For the first time I'm thinking past tomorrow' verse.


**I put on my profile that I would write from a prompt given to my by the one hundredth follower of my story, and I am a man of my word. The idea was:**

 _ **Can you write a short story that takes place during the events of 'For the First Time I'm Thinking Past Tomorrow' universe...**_  
 _ **But here's the catch: I want it to be from a character's perspective that is NOT John, Lafayette, Alex, Herc, George, or Martha.**_  
 _ **Basically, you can make it around whatever time in 'For the First Time I'm Thinking Past Tomorrow', but I want to see the perspective of a character you haven't really covered yet.**_

 **I chose George Frederick. This will be set after the fight Lee and George have with Lafayette and John.**

 **This is for StoryShiftChara. Thanks to every single follower, reviewer and favourite-er I get. I haven't got a single piece of hate or a proper negative review yet. I hope you all like this**

 **Trigger warnings: underage drinking, drunk fighting, homophobia, xenophobia, classicism, mistreatment of employee.**

 **By the way, they play gta 5 in this and I have no idea how that works so...**

* * *

George watched Laurens and Lafayette as they were pulled out the gate by their friend, Mulligan. He couldn't suppress a shudder at the expression on Lafayette's face, directed directly at him. Unrestrained contempt and hatred burning behind those eyes. Hatred that he knew he deserved.

He turned to where Charles was sat, defeated, on the grass. Blood speckled his nose and a dark bruise was blooming across the side of his cheekbone. George winced himself when he prodded lightly at his jaw and held out his hand to pull his friend up.

"Jesus Christ, I'm going to pay them back for that."

Charles' tone was so bitter, so venomous that it momentarily shocked George. He was well aware of his friend's contempt for the four teenagers in their year, Laurens, Hamilton, Mulligan and Lafayette. It still made him extremely glad to know he was on this teenager's good side.

"Are you okay? Mulligan's got a strong right hook. That looks painful."

Charles scowled and wiped at the blood pooling above his lip. For a moment it seemed like he was going to retort sharply but he must have sensed the real concern in George's voice. He merely shrugged.

"Not as bad as what I did to Frenchie. Guy had it coming, should learn to show some respect."

George said nothing, instead he picked up his and Charles' bag and passed it to the dark haired teenager.

They walked out the double gates and turned right, walking in the opposite direction in which the three other boys had gone. Charles turned around to face the way they'd gone, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, watching the three retreating figures.

He looked for a moment as though he would have liked to yell something after them but stopped, a hard look passing across his eyes and his face darkening.

He turned back around and they walked down the road in near silence, the houses around them becoming increasingly more affluent looking and wealthy.

"I don't know why that prick immigrant thinks he can talk to me like that."

George smirked and shrugged.

"Which one?"

Charles let out a loud bark of laughter and pride swelled in George's chest. He felt more accepted when he could make his friend laugh.

"Hamilton. I don't get his problem. Probably just an entitled immigrant, coming over here thinking he can do whatever he wants, not respect his betters."

George hummed in acknowledgment, not exactly agreement, because he wasn't sure he did agree, but he would never say that to Charles.

The truth was, he didn't so much care about what Lafayette, Laurens, Hamilton, and Mulligan said. He got riled up when they insulted Charles or him, but their identities had little to do with the anger behind the punches he threw at them.

Not that the gay thing didn't bother him. It did. He'd grown up listening to his father and mother discussing the issue in low tones, their faces always either concerned or outraged. People assumed that because he was European, his family was a liberal one. They couldn't be more wrong.

"Will your dad be pissed if he sees your face like that?"

Charles shrugged and pulled his bag tighter around his shoulder, speeding up his pace slightly as they crossed a busy road.

"He won't be home. I'll just make sure Lucia doesn't say anything to him."

George nodded and they stopped outside a 7/11 on the street corner.

"Want anything?"

Charles had pulled his wallet from his pocket and was pulling out a twenty. George shrugged and followed him inside, feeling goosebumps prickle his skin at the cold air from the open fridge.

He leaned casually against the candy shelf and watched Charles scan his eyes over the drinks. It was one of those dimly lit 7/11s with the linoleum floors and yellow lighting. He was honestly surprised gentrification hadn't swallowed this place whole, replaced it with a whole foods or something.

A bored looking college-age man sat behind the counter, reading through a tattered newspaper.

Charles picked up two cans of Coors from the fridge shelf and brought them over to the counter, flashing the twenty as he did so.

The guy at the counter looked up at Charles, raised his eyebrows and fixed him with an incredulous stare. He shook his head and pushed the cans of beer away from where Charles had put them down.

"No way are you twenty one."

They had both turned sixteen already but despite their shared tall stature and older looking faces, they couldn't normally pass for more than eighteen.

Charles grinned at the man and pulled an id from his pocket, sliding it across the counter to the man.

"This is fake. I can't let you buy that."

Charles Lee scowled suddenly, all pretence of a wink-nudge attitude gone.

"Listen, how about I give you this twenty and you keep the change for yourself. That's like fourteen bucks."

The man surveyed him for a few more moments, his eyes flitting from the twenty in Charles' hand to the beer and then to George stood quietly by the door.

"Fine. But don't think you can pull this shit again."

Charles smirked and dropped the twenty on the counter, taking a can of beer in each hand and walking back out into the bright light of the street. He handed a can to George and slid his inconspicuously into his school bag.

"Put that away, police are assholes around here."

George always picked up on the little words he and Charles said differently to everyone else. Police instead of cop. Petrol rather than gasoline. He didn't know why. He guessed it was kind of comforting to have a friend that talked the same as he did.

"Thanks. Lucia won't say anything?"

Charles shook his head, redoing the zip on his backpack.

"She wouldn't, but we won't let her see anyway."

They continued through the increasingly wealthy suburbs until the houses were so large there were only a few on each road and the hedges were all trimmed perfectly uniform in little spheres and rectangles.

Charles' neighbourhood was quite different to his. Of course, there was little difference in the amount of money both their families had. They both came from old money, British upper-class ideologies and an affluent position in society.

He, however, lived in a townhouse further into the main city. A rich area of Newport, not too far from the school.

They walked in through the side door that led into the kitchen. It was warm in Charles' house. Comforting and pleasant in contrast with the chill outside. Lucia was wiping down the counters with a rag, her white apron tied neatly over the white shirt, black trousers uniform.

That was another one of those words. Trousers rather than pants.

She looked up in surprise as they entered. Usually they took the back door, but for whatever reason, they'd come in this way today.

Her expression grew fearful as she took in the cuts on their faces and the blooming bruise of Charles' cheek.

"I don't want trouble, Mr. Lee."

Her tone was high and nervous and she'd dropped the rag with a squelch on the counter.

"You won't get any. Just don't mention this to anyone."

His tone was easy and careless although George was sure he could detect a slight hint of warning injected into it.

Lucia nodded vigorously and picked the rag back up, swiping it back over the countertop.

"Do you want anything, sir? Food, band-aids?"

Charles dismissed her with a wave of his hand and walked out of the kitchen, kicking off his shoes as he went, leaving Lucia to put them on the rack.

George sent the maid an ever so slightly apologetic look and followed his friend upstairs, hastily putting the shoes Charles had discarded back on the rack.

Charles' bedroom was large and airy, obviously freshly cleaned by the scent of air freshener and window cleaner that hung in the air.

"I told her not to use that fucking air freshener in here."

Charles looked momentarily annoyed and pushed open a window, dumping his bag onto the floor and discarding his jacket next to it.

George was more careful. He hung his coat on the hook on Charles' door and kicked his bag under the desk, out of their way.

Charles had opened his bag now and brought out the can of beer, cracking open the seal and holding out the drink in a mocking toast to his friend. George did the same and grinned at his friend, clinking the edge of the can against Charles'.

"To punching some of the arrogance out of Gilbert fucking Lafayette."

Charles grinned at his toast and took a drink from his can, sighing and leaning back in his desk chair. George had sat down on the floor, his legs stretched out across the rug and his back leaned against Charles' bed.

George sipped at the beer in his hand hesitantly and wiped his hand off on his jeans. The condensation of the can dampened and chilled his palm.

To be honest, he didn't care much for beer. He kinda liked being drunk. It was fun sometimes, but it gave him a headache and the taste of pretty much every alcohol made him gag slightly.

Charles turned on the PlayStation and threw a controller towards George, turning on grand theft auto.

They played for a while, while Charles talked and George listened. Well, Charles didn't so much talk as rant, furiously pissed off and jamming the buttons on the controller so hard his character was moving jerkingly and irregularly.

"That faggot John Laurens has the fucking nerve to punch me last week and then he does the same to you today? He deserves more than getting a coke chucked at him."

George privately thought Laurens had got enough shit from them for punching Lee. Hamilton too. The image of Hamilton on that bench outside the cinema, crying into his hands and drenched in coke, was burned into the backs of his eyelids. It made him feel so inexplicably guilty and sick.

But he deserved it, right?

Going to the cinema with another boy and leaning onto him so openly, putting his head right on Laurens' chest, surely he deserved it?

That was what his father would have said. That he got what was coming to him. George supposed he was right. That kind of thing shouldn't stand in public places. He decided to voice this opinion to Charles. He knew he would agree.

"It's disgusting. They shouldn't be allowed to act like that in public. Laurens and Hamilton at the cinema, I mean."

Charles pushed a civilian out of their car and jumped in with a series of furious motions on his controller, nodding at what George was saying.

"When dad becomes senator he's gonna try and pass laws about that stuff. Make it so that the gays can't adopt and whatever, then go from there."

George nodded and watched the screen as Charles' character leapt out of the car just in time before it hit a brick wall with a screech of metal and a harsh, cacophonous grinding sound.

"So, it will be Washington versus your dad, do you reckon?"

Charles grit his teeth and nodded, taking another large gulp from the can on his right.

"Yeah. I don't know what Washington is thinking. Putting himself out there so far left. Democrats win in Virginia. Not fucking socialists that want to replace all cops with therapists and all guns with trees."

George shrugged and sipped at his own drink, which was much fuller than Charles'.

"Tim Kaine won couple years ago."

Charles fixed him with a glare and raised his eyebrows, the light shining through the window made his entire face look silver, like a Roman bust.

"You seriously think my dad is going to lose to that socialist joke?"

George shook his head, cursing internally and taking another swig of the beer.

"No. I don't. Just that Virginia's overall a democratic state. Especially Newport News."

Charles scowled but said nothing, continuing with the game and taking regular, large sips of the beer next to him.

"What do you think the campaign will be like? Clean or what?"

Charles shrugged.

"There no fucking dirt on Washington whatsoever. He was a representative a while ago but never caused any big stir."

George shrugged and sipped again at his drink, wondering if Charles' optimism that John Lee would win was rooted in the fact he was his son or actual knowledge of the current political climate.

George put down his controller to take another drink and pressed down on his jaw, wincing as he felt the bruise there. He knew he had long scratches down his face. Laurens was like a freaking cat or something, they stung like hell.

"Do you want something for that? Ice?"

Charles was watching him, his controller set down and the game paused. Genuine concern fighting behind his eyes, seemingly unaware his own nose was leaking dark blood.

"Yeah. You should do something about your nose too, it looks kinda bad."

Charles touched his cupid's bow and held his hand up in front of him, examining the blood on his fingers.

"Huh."

His tone was casual and George rolled his eyes. He stood up and took another sip from the drink before beckoning Lee to follow him to the bathroom.

He wet a tissue and held it to his very faintly bleeding lip, watching as Charlie's stemmed the blood flow from his nose.

Charles looked up at George then, his eyes suddenly fearful and concerned, his hand withdrawing the tissue from his nose. It was as though he had just realised something, his fist was clenched tightly around the tissue so that water was leaking down his wrist.

"Can you drink on your medication?"

George cursed and dropped the tissue, slapping himself in the face and groaning. He shook his head and heard Charles swear.

"Did you finish it?"

George shook his head and followed Charles back into the bedroom, watching him pick up the can, testing its weight and fullness.

"You didn't drink that much, you should be good, right?"

George shrugged, mentally kicking himself for forgetting.

"Aripiprazole isn't supposed to be taken with alcohol. But I'm only on like five milligrams and I barely had any beer."

There wasn't anyone he talked with so openly about his meds other than Charles. It was strange. Though Charles was his best friend, and it hurt him to admit it to himself, the teenager wasn't an exceedingly compassionate character.

When it came to George however, Charles tended to show a little more sympathy and concern. It was strange, he usually admonished anyone different from his (or rather his father's) ideal yet showed no animosity to George for his schizophrenia.

"You can have the rest of mine if you want."

Charles shrugged and guilt was still apparent in his eyes.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have bought it for you, I should have remembered."

George shook his head and pressed the tissue back to his lip.

"It's on me. They're my meds, not yours."

Charles sighed again and went back to the game, his face still set in a rather grumpy, dismal expression.

"You sure your face is okay?"

George nodded and drew the tissue away from his face, examining it. There were no more fresh blood stains so he reckoned that he could throw it away.

Charles had finished his Coors now and face was ever so slightly flushed. He definitely wasn't drunk, per say, his reflexes were still sharp judging by how he was playing, but he seemed as though he was experiencing that energy buzz you get after about one beer.

Charles' character on the screen swung a punch at some druggie he was supposed to be paying. George watched the man drop to the ground and Charles' avatars kick him several times in the ribs.

"Christ."

Charles shrugged and kicked the man away, walking further into the warehouse.

"Pretending it's Lafayette."

George couldn't help roll his eyes a little at this. Sometimes the feud Charles maintained with those four was a little juvenile.

Charles glanced at him and scowled, his fingers momentarily pausing over the controller.

"What?"

George leaned back against the bed and shrugged, not looking at his friend.

"Can we just not talk about them? Seriously, they don't matter that much."

Charles frowned and picked the controller, his character in gta5 had just picked up a crowbar and was proceeding to smash a window.

"Besides, what did Lafayette even do to you?"

Charles looked at him quizzically and rolled his shoulder angrily.

"Besides being a loud-mouthed gay who can barely speak English?"

George frowned at this. Lafayette's English was fine, he just had an accent. Sure, he was gay. Well, maybe he was bisexual or pansexual or whatever other stupid label people identified as these days, and that bothered George, but him being French didn't really matter.

"What, do you not have a problem with that?"

George shook his head, sensing the conversation was verging on something angrier but not ceasing.

"I just wish we didn't have to fight with them all the time. Like, if they insult you or me, sure, but I don't know man..."

Charles had pressed pause on the game and turned more fully to face George, he'd picked up the second beer now and took a large gulp of that too.

"What?"

George shook his head and turned back to the game, gesturing lazily to it.

"Let's just play, yeah."

Charles shook his head, his face hardened now and his dark hair falling across his forehead so that his eyes were obscured by shadows.

"I wanna hear what you think. Why you're defending fucking Lafayette."

George groaned and rubbed his face, exhausted. It was too late in the day for this shit.

"I just think we should leave them alone, instead of seeking out confrontation every damn time we see them."

Charles furrowed his brow and George could see the effect the beer had had on him. His eyes were slightly brighter and his posture looser, more sprawling. The lines of his body were haphazardly stretched out across the chair.

"I'm sorry, you just didn't seem so hesitant when you laid into Hamilton like every day in the past three weeks."

George winced slightly and remembered how he and Charles had cornered Hamilton after school just a few days ago. He wasn't exactly proud of that. But Charles had wanted to, so what he could do but follow?

"And who was it who started all that? Making me late to class every other day because you can't resist beating the kid up at break?"

Charles laughed menacingly and his eyes became cruel. Suddenly, George realised what it must feel like for Hamilton or Lafayette on the receiving end of Charles Lee's death stare.

"Don't fucking blame me, George. You're not some kid who can't think for themselves. Everything you did, you're responsible for."

George knew this was true, so he became even angrier. Charles had known he didn't like going after Hamilton yet he'd made a point to terrorize him at every opportunity he got.

"I just don't see your fucking problem with him, he's gay, that's gross, but it's hard not to think you're just taking your anger out on him."

Charles had stood up now and George found himself on his feet too, his fists clenched.

"Come off it, you're starting to sound like Hamilton."

"Maybe Hamilton has a point. Do you actually hate him, or is beating people up just a fucking coping strategy?"

Charles stepped forward and shoved George roughly, sending him stumbling a few paces backwards, nearly falling over Charles' bag as he went.

"Seriously, come on Charles."

He moved away from his friend and crossed his arms defensively, sickeningly, he was actually slightly nervous of Charles now.

"It sounds to me like you care a bit more about Hamilton than you do me. Why don't you just go make friends with the gay, immigrant orphan?"

George sneered, all his previously unexpressed resentment at his friend flooding him, filling his mouth with all the things he'd never even considered saying before.

"At least I'd be hanging with someone who's idea of fun is more than getting drunk or beating someone up."

Charles flew at him then, knocking him onto the floor with the full force of his weight and landing directly on top of him, his knee colliding painfully with his stomach.

"Wha- Fuck! Get the hell off me!"

Charles stood up and kicked him once, hard in the side. George groaned in pain and rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself into all fours before clambering to his feet.

Charles had ripped his jacket off the hook and threw it at him, pulling his bag from under the desk and kicking it towards George too.

"Charles, seriously, calm down. You're wasted."

Charles was turned away from him but at these words whipped around, his face contorted in fury.

"Get the fuck out of this house."

"Charl-"

George was cut off by the feeling of something fly directly by his cheek, scraping the flesh and landing with a crash against the wall behind him. Charles had thrown his half-full can of beer at his head.

"Leave."

Charles' voice was barely a whisper.

George touched his hand to his cheek and felt a long, deep cut there. The can must have caught him.

He looked up at Charles, his hand still touching his face, utterly astonished. They stood in silence for a beat, George's mind reeling and his cheek stinging as a droplet of blood swelled at the cut.

"Get. Out."

He practically screamed this, his face furious and his eyes wild.

Instantly, George pulled on his jacket with unnecessary force and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, practically sprinting out the door and downstairs.

He left through the front door, his head lowered and his fists clenched in the pockets of his jacket.

It was pretty dark outside now, the sky was a curtain of black velvet drawn across the sun. George walked to the nearest bus stop and sat down, his chin in his hands and his eyes closed.

Well, he'd really messed things up, hadn't he.

 **Moral of the story: don't drink when you're sixteen and unsupervised, be a good person.**


End file.
